They stand, a silent undiscovered country, between the seething pleasure towns of the seaboard plain and the trim estates of the Weald.

Londoners, for whom Sussex has a special attraction by reason of its proximity (Brighton's beach is the nearest to the capital in point of time), either pause north of the Downs, or rush through them in trains, on bicycles, or in carriages, to the sea.

Houses there are among the Downs, it is true, but they are old-established, the homes of families that can remember no other homes.

There is as yet no fashion for residences in these altitudes.

Until that fashion sets in (and may it be far distant) the Downs will remain essential Sussex, and those that love them will exclaim with Mr.Kipling, God gave all men all earth to love, But since man's heart is small, Ordains for each one spot shall prove Beloved over all.
* * * * * Each to his choice, and I rejoice The lot has fallen to me In a fair ground--in a fair ground-- Yea, Sussex by the sea! [Sidenote: MIDHURST] If we are to begin our travels in Sussex with the best, then Midhurst is the starting point, for no other spot has so much to offer: a quiet country town, gabled and venerable, unmodernised and unambitious, with a river, a Tudor ruin, a park of deer, heather commons, immense woods, and the Downs only three miles distant.